Mitchell Smith: Kingdom River

Monroe's face, square and harsh-featured, is marked by weather, war, and cares of state. His eyes are very clear, a dark hazel, his lashes almost long as a girl's. Commanding an army whose men are often mustached and bearded, he shaves his face clean – as do most of his senior officers and administrators, likely in imitation.

The Captain-General's intelligence, like his vision, is clear, direct, devouring of subjects of interest, and dismissive of others. He is alert, profoundly practical, and unafraid. He works harder than any of his servants, though all, whether soldiers or administrators, are hard and constant workers.

Finally – and this may be unimportant, may simply reflect the pressures of great power on a young man less than hungry for it – finally, it seems to me that Small-Sam Monroe is not happy.

Important administrators: Charles Ketch – an exceptionally tall, stooped man in his fifties, once a prosperous valley farmer, then first Chief of Supply… and now Chief Executive, North Map-Mexico. What Monroe commands, Charles Ketch effects – and stands, it seems, somewhat in the role of father to the much younger man.

Eric Lauder – current Chief of Supply, a man in his thirties, squat, bearded, bald, lively and humorous. Lauder, besides commanding the army's supply train, is also the edge of the secret civil sword… collecting information, dispensing any necessary covert deaths. (He has informed me, in the pleasantest way, that he considers my resignation from your service likely a clumsy ruse, and that I remain under his eye.)

Margaret Mosten, Secretary. Mosten, an officer's widow – and herself an ex-officer of Light Infantry – administers Monroe's quarters and camps, and commands his personal guard. A sturdy blonde in her thirties, apparently easygoing and amiable, Mosten is both more efficient and more formidable than she appears. (I was told by a muleteer that on one occasion she personally escorted two drunken armed trespassers – found in the camp at night – to the perimeter guard post, where she cut their throats. A warning as well, apparently, to the guards who had not discovered and prevented them.)

Margaret Mosten decides who sees the Captain-General, but doesn't appear to abuse her position. Her relationship to Monroe seems to have always been that of a friend, not a lover.

Military Commanders: Almost elderly, and ranked brigadiers in the old Warm-time style, Jaime and Elvin Rascob have functioned as Monroe's senior commanders. These brothers, often in disagreement with each other – and occasionally with Monroe as well – nevertheless have a strikingly successful record in war. Their staff, field officers, and subordinate commanders hold these old men in great esteem. My impression is that the two brothers, together, have made one very formidable general. It may prove important, therefore, that Elvin Rascob is ill of tiny plants in his lungs – certainly the Warm-time TB – and is dying.

Ned Flores, Colonel, commands the Light Cavalry regiments. A restless young man – violent and charming – Flores is a childhood friend of Monroe's, his closest friend. Though apparently only the image of a perfect dashing commander of light horse, this officer, as many of Monroe's people, reveals more depth on examination. He is responsible, more than any other, for reviving the game of chess in this territory – where checkers had been the board game of choice – and more often than not beats Monroe at it. He more often than not beats me as well, and crows like a child at his triumphs.

Howell Voss, Colonel, commands the Heavy Cavalry. Colonel Voss, like Eric Lauder, is often amusing. He is also large and handsome – though missing his left eye – and is a favorite with women. (The eye was lost in a duel with an angry husband.) Howell Voss is occasionally subdued, 'blue' as Warm-times had it, and then stays alone in his tent. He plays the banjar very well indeed… and is said to be suicidally brave in battle.

Phillip Butler, Colonel, commands the Heavy Infantry. An older man, gray-bearded, small, silent, and eccentric – he always has tiny dogs about him; he puts them in his jacket pockets – Colonel Butler was the mayor of Tijuana-City before the South invaded. It's said by Monroe's people, certainly an exaggeration, that Butler has never made a tactical mistake on a battlefield. He is regarded as an extraordinary soldier, having become, as it were, a Regular among inspired amateurs. His pikemen and crossbowmen love him, though he can be a harsh commander; they treat him like an irritable old uncle.

Charmian Loomis, Colonel, commands the light Infantry. A tall, thin, awkward-seeming young woman, with light blue eyes and a bony – and, it seems to me, quite plain – face, she commands the elite of Monroe's army. ('Elite,' lord, may be found in Copy-Webster's. Bottom shelf on the right as you enter the library. I believe the word may have been Warm-time Canadian in origin.)… This officer, a woman with no family, quite silent, and who appears to offer little in any social situation – I've met her several times – is by reputation a demonic figure in battle, with quite extraordinary skill in controlling a force designed after all to be mobile, occasionally fragmented, and self-directing to a considerable degree. Monroe occasionally calls her 'Joan,' I suspect in reference to some Warm-time figure he has read of. All others call her 'Colonel.'

In summary, it is my civilian impression that these officers, and those they command, represent considerable military talent – experienced, highly disciplined, confident, and aggressive. I believe you would enjoy their company, if matters were otherwise, and would certainly then find them useful to employ.

As to Sam Monroe. His Second-mother's death – while fighting an outbreak of flea-plague in the township of Los Palominos three years ago – has left him with no family. (I must add that I mourn that most tender of physicians still, and deeply regret not seeing her again.)

The Captain-General's occasional women are companions as well as lovers and, I understand, come and go as tasks and places come and go. He is very generous to them, and to his dose friends and officers – but only once. An important gift is given – a prosperous farm, or wide sheepland, or large herd of fine riding-horses – but after that, nothing ever but army wages. So men and women who continue to serve him, do so because they wish to, expecting no further reward.

His army is relatively small, but as I understand it is a 'balanced force,' composed of five fairly equal elements: Supply; Light Cavalry; Heavy Cavalry; Light Infantry; Heavy Infantry. Monroe has stated, in my hearing, that his Light Cavalry, while very good, is not quite a match for the Khanate's, that his Heavy Cavalry, while excellent, is not quite as formidable as the Empire's best, and that his Heavy Infantry, though solid, is not quite the instrument that Middle Kingdom fields. His Light Infantry, however – men and women of the Sierra – Monroe believes to be the finest of our world.

It is the balance of these forces he considers crucial. That, and the strategy and tactics of their use. I'm told he has said, 'These are the edged tools for fashioning victory, as a carpenter fettles a table.' (For 'fettle,' Great Khan, see my monograph on Warm-time Words Unusual.)

The Captain-General's sigil – and, by adoption, the army's banner – is a black scorpion on a field of gold. Though a far-south creature, it is appropriately ominous. While the enlisted men among their prisoners are very well treated, captured enemy officers are invariably beheaded – or, if they are senior, disemboweled. This, apparently, a brutal remainder of these people's desperate days of revolt against the Empire.